


The Bad Guy, The Pretender

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Angry Roger Taylor (Queen), Angst, Apologies, BAMF John, Bad Decisions, Band Fic, Banter, Best Friends, Communication, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Kids, Declarations Of Love, Diaper changing, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Early 1985 before Live Aid, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, Except Bri gets down on himself of course, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Fights, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Going Solo, Happy ending because we know they didn't break up though, He's determined and he cares, Heart-to-Heart, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hot Space was...I don't have words except for damn, Hugs, I guess this is technically after Hot Space Era but that album is still messing things up..., I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insecurity, Inspired by Music, Interviews, John Is So Done, John is such a good dad, Lack of Communication, London Underground, Mother Hen Brian May, Mother Hen Freddie Mercury, Nicknames, On Hiatus, POV First Person, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Phone Calls & Telephones, Pillow Fights, Please Don't Hate Me, Poor Freddie, Protective John, Reconciliation, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Reminiscing, Sad Brian May, Sassy, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Smoking, Swearing, The Works era, Tickling, What-If, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24495682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: "Christ. Is that a fucking TUBA, Freddie?!""...Did he ask the Philharmonic to join him on this? What was he thinking?"Their opinions vehemently voiced, with more sure to follow, surprise surprise, both Roger and Brian turn - practically in unison - to look at me. Do they want to know what my thoughts are about all of this? Honestly?(Or, Queen are on hiatus after the Hot Space album and tour, as well as having done The Works, and two members come to a third wanting him to listen to a song. A song from their lead singer's solo album.)
Relationships: Brian May & Roger Taylor, Elton John & Freddie Mercury, Elton John & Roger Taylor (Queen), Joe Fanelli & Freddie Mercury, John Deacon & Brian May, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Brian May & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Freddie Mercury, John Deacon & Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Peter "Phoebe" Freestone & Freddie Mercury
Comments: 60
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Toinette93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toinette93/gifts).



"Christ. Is that a fucking TUBA, Freddie?!"

"...Did he ask the Philharmonic to join him on this? What was he thinking?"

Their opinions vehemently voiced, with more sure to follow, surprise surprise, both Roger and Brian turn - practically in unison - to look at me. Do they want to know what my thoughts are about all of this? Honestly?

I look from one to the other of my infuriating pair of bandmates who not only barged into my place of safety and solitude - into my HOME, while dearest Ron's off at work, the work she's only got to do because I'm off touring in a rock band. I mean, thank goodness she hasn't got to witness this, though - here they've come to whine and moan about our lead singer's solo work, putting on his song 'Mister Bad Guy' for us all to listen to, and apparently pick over when all he had done was lavish praise on their previous solo albums and feel as though he was being left behind. Right. But oh, _he's_ got some nerve, performing now in his own talented, wonderfully bombastic way, pulling in an orchestra.

"D'you hear yourselves?" I ask eventually, smacking my lips and leaning towards them with a smile tugging the corner of my mouth, flattening it wryly. "Do you think, erm, that maybe this is Freddie honestly thinking, well. That he's everybody's bad guy?" I nod at the sound of his smooth vocals purring out the words _'Bad communication...,'_ as he could very well be talking to me directly with that. I press my lips together, blinking hard. 

"What if - he's trying to say he's sorry?"

I tilt my head a bit and wait.

And sure enough, Roger explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to do a bit of John's POV, so here it is, my loves! Thanks Toinette for your request :) though I'm sorry there is angst - I listened to Freddie's song 'Mr Bad Guy' this afternoon and boom, inspiration!
> 
> I think this was the closest the band ever came to a break up. Wish I had inspiration for something else, but here we are.
> 
> I hope I can do justice to John's particular inner voice, quiet and strong and dry and caring as it is. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	2. Chapter 2

"He's SORRY?!? Oh, that's rich!" Roger roars. "That's all right then - what's he sorry for, the wanker? Staying out all hours of the fucking night and day, snorting enough snow to powder half the Himalayas, constantly hanging with that limey bastard Prenter -"

"...Roger,"

"Or maybe, - I'm not fucking finished, Bri! - Maybe he's saying, trying to say he's sorry to you, for the fact that he was going along cutting out every song that could've used a bloody guitar solo for the sake of fucking disco, and when he wasn't doing that _you_ were doing all the rhythm axe work, Johnny, and using a machine mix with Mack on my ruddy drum set!" Those blue eyes snap at me as his chest heaves in fury, high sweet voice snapping shrill. "So for what, exactly, is Freddie sorry? Needs to make a fucking laundry list at this rate!"

Brian snorts and says soft "...if it's like all those old lists we had for actual laundry in the flat, though, he won't do it."

I look at the pair of them, Rog barking out a bitter laugh and shaking his bright hair, Brian pressing his lips together looking all wounded and sorry and sad after he attempted to make that - was that a joke? - and I stop myself from letting out an answering snort. If they expect another apology for 'Back Chat' or anything else on that album, I can give it; but I gave it, and besides there's a bigger issue here. 

A looming question.

"Thing is, if he does say all his sorries, Rog, will that make you forgive him? Is it enough to keep on?" I speak this last to both of them, though I can't quite meet eyes with Brian. 

He does it for me, though. Narrows his eyes a bit as he leans forward, turning his body towards mine in an achingly similar way to those times on interviews years ago, and even more recent, like in Japan, when he sat close in order to comfort me... I gulp and blink, sticking out my lip as something twinges round my heart. "What are you saying, John?" Brian asks now, tone sweet and steady if a little stilted. Unless I'm imagining that, but. He called me John. Not Deaks or Deacy. I deserve that, I suppose, due to all that's gone down and been done between us.

I flick my eyes at him. At both of them.

Here goes. "Well, based on statistics, most bands break up eventually," I say. Roger makes a sharp movement that Brian quells with a hand on his leg. "I mean we've already lasted longer than the Beatles, best boy band who paved our way," I smack my lips and smile a little, but I feel my heart beating heavily. Blow out air, shift a bit, tap my thumbs. "But is this it, then? Is this, erm, hiatus the end for us?" _Are we breaking up, then?_

Brian and Roger look at each other, doing that thing they've done since the very beginning, speaking without words. Which I envied so much until Freddie and I could do it too, or had something close, at least. Akin to it of a sort. But now Freddie's off on his own and I'm here with a barrier shooting up between me and my best mates, and honestly I haven't the foggiest.

Figure I ought to dry up, and fast, get them some tea or something, but Brian's looking all fidgety and upset and Roger is somber, inhaling sharply through his nose and clearing his throat, that high voice of his softer now, and gentle, though there is still sharpness in his eyes and a hitch in tone as he directly asks me "Is that what you want to happen, Deacy? D'you want this to be the end for us?"

I gulp and flex my fingers as I sit back down, settling into the sofa as I'd been about to get up. I feel myself begin to shake.

Oh, boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, Roger's enraged
> 
> *Hot Space was a very different album, and from interviews I've seen Roger and Brian both had issues with it that they tried to hide/quell for the press, but disco hits don't need guitar solos and a lot of songs utilised sounds like drum machines... I don't intend to pass judgement on anything done, but I think there were definitely some tensions from that time. I feel so much for all of them.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	3. Chapter 3

"I..." I beg them to understand with my eyes. "I never expected this in the first place, mates," I say softly, clearing my throat. "This, erm. This band's been the same four people kept together, and I honestly thought we'd - it was just a hobby of mine, the playing," I catch Roger's eyes, and then Brian's. "I've told you before, and I know ...you might not be able to understand that, but. I know music is your life, or a big part of your life, and you've both given up things to be here. Brian, I mean, you gave up your thesis, and, um." I smack my lips, duck my head, nod and swallow at the same time. "Roger, you were going to be a dentist."

Rog waves his hand, tossing off. "Almost a bloody dentist, but that wasn't me, Deaks."

"I know. I know it wasn't." I shuffle a little and chuckle. "And...we all know Freddie, he couldn't stay behind the scenes as a fashion designer."

"Oh I'm sure he could -"

"But he wouldn't like it. Be too boring in a couple years. You imagine what could've happened to him if we didn't snatch him up after Ibex?" Roger pushes his hand through his hair and rests elbow on one bouncing knee, glancing at Brian.

Brian actually laughs, and looks surprised, covering his lips right after as if he's afraid he's been too boisterous or something. "...I can't, but it's quite the thought to ponder." His brows wrinkle and draw together, and I can easily see him slipping into that heady intellectual space he sometimes goes. I shuffle a little, and Roger sees - or more like senses - the discomfort I'm feeling, I think, and he stands and presses down creases in his trousers, waving at me to budge over so he can squeeze in to sit beside me. 

Wraps an arm around my shoulders as he utters "So what you're saying is this has always been overwhelming, but you know you're meant to be in this band, Deacy." He shakes me, leans his soft head against mine. "Come on mate, you must know that."

I choke on the reply I start, taking a quick peek at Brian, who I'm not sure has heard what Roger said, but he hears me: "Uh, well, I... d'you think... Freddie does?" I can't stop the shaking, the drop of my heart as the next song from Freddie's album comes on. His voice tears right through me. "I mean...listen to him." His tone here, now in this song is one that sounds like he is crying, and I know he's down for drama, puts it in every lyric, like, but this sounds different. This _feels_ different. 

Roger's face has stilled and Brian's eyes have sharpened. He's come out of his head, for Freddie, of course. I shake myself away from the sour feeling twisting up my guts, or try to, aching for them to hear what I hear, to understand what I'm saying desperately. "It's like... he's crying out for help, and I - well I dunno what to do about that." I sniffle, wipe my eyes and add "But I'm - I'm worried."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The band Freddie sang for, before Queen, in the days when Brian and Roger were part of Smile, was called Ibex
> 
> John's trying to get his points across, bless him. Hope I'm channeling his voice well, as in personality he's quite different from me
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

Brian sucks in a breath and blinks rapidly, looking as if my words have confirmed his own fear. It's like a darkness opens up in his eyes, and his hands are shaking as he clenches his knobbly fingers together. His shirtsleeves slide up his arms and I squint at the sight of his pale skin. Somehow he looks thinner even than he always has, and I realise I hadn't noticed. Hadn't paid attention, really. All I saw during our studio work was his height looming so tall in the corner beyond the haze of smoke from our cigarettes, choking he would often say to us, catching in his hair. I... I hadn't seen what else the stress was doing to him. Hadn't wanted to, really; my own choices during the recording of that album tell me that much, if nothing else does.

Roger's hand on my shoulder clutches tight and through my shirt I feel his callouses, his warmth. He's here with me and I - during that album I wasn't his Deacy, not the way I've been. Rhythm sections are meant to stick together and I haven't been doing my part. I know how much he hates drum machines, the way they work, so unimaginative, he's said from the very first. I listen to him, keep time, it's my job to do so. And I just didn't, I ran away with what I wanted to do during Hot Space and Freddie came right along with me. 

I stuck with Freddie, worked so hard to showcase what we wanted, what it felt as though he needed - he got so excited and invigorated by the disco, and it was as if another part of him was immersed in the work. But was it, it was solely the pair of us. I'm not anything by myself, but I could help Fred then. And on our next album, we wrote together. I thought that was helping, but still he's going it alone and he seems so completely alone... Can I still help the rest of the band, or Is it too much to hope that we can all work together now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely certain where this is going, I'm finding it a bit tough to capture John (probably because of the level of angst during this time period, and in particular his level of privacy). If you have anything you'd like to see, feel free to let me know your thoughts :)
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	5. Chapter 5

"Oi, d'you lot remember when we were in the shite with Trident?" Asks Roger suddenly. I look up at him as does Brian, and I feel myself immediately tensing up. How can we forget what happened, 'specially the lack of business savvy and know-how that got us in that mess? We all wanted to be represented by a record label so badly. What Sheffield did....

"We didn't see the signs," Brian murmurs. I nod once in agreement, but Roger says something that takes me by surprise.

"Freddie saw it," he says. "Them, I mean. He knew something was up, and he confronted that bastard Sheffield about it on his own. I only found out about 't later, too late to do anything, to stop him from... Oh, fucking hell." Running both hands feverishly through his hair, Rog bounces up and paces. Spins around and looks at us for emphasis. "Fred would get things for us, remember? He'd go see Sheffield and - there'd be a bonus, pair'a drumsticks or a new aux cord for the amp. Enough to string us all along for a bit, but -"

"He had to be that reprobate's ... plaything in order to do it," Brian's tone of voice is cold, harsher than I have ever heard it, even when he'd shout in studio as he hisses out these words. This is an entirely different level. His eyes are blazing. "I - never could quite figure, and didn't ask what - what he did or, or felt he had to do."

"I did," Roger retorts. "We got drunk one night and I flat-out asked. Well. Demanded, more like. That was - when he told me -" Roger stops, his eyes bulge and he looks drained and ill, suddenly. Looks as though he had come to know something he never wanted to. "He - opened up about a lot more. Things," Rog's voice croaks and he chokes off, jaw clenched tight and eyes furious. "Made me swear never to say, and I wish I hadn't heard but fuck if I wanted it to've happened to me instead of him. I could - you know, with my dad, Brian, I could've taken it. I - but he didn't fucking deserve that. Not Fred. _Never_ Fred."

Brian reaches out to Roger, letting out a sharp sound, eyes full of tears and so much sorrow. "Oh, Rogie, no. You didn't either... you're so decent," he chokes now on words as well, clasping Rog's hands in his. I almost feel as though I'm intruding somehow, but Bri continues "I didn't know, I wish I..." Bowing those dark curls over their hands he then lifts his head to glance at me as he adds "I just could tell Freddie was so furious round then, that I suggested he put all that he was feeling into song. Goodness knows that's what I've done, tried to do all these years. Then he wrote 'Death on Two Legs' and now..." Bri trembles, I see his face change as he registers my words about Freddie's album in a different way. He looks from Roger over to me, letting go one of Rog's hands to reach for mine. "Oh, Freddie. Always trying to protect us, take care of us, and we - I've failed him."

"No," Roger snaps. "No, Brian, you haven't, mate. We haven't. I mean, the Works - it hasn't really been working for us, if we're on tour and all Fred's thinking about is finishing up his solo work, but...." 

"Don't go putting that on yourself," I say drily. "...Even as that's your specialty, Bri." I feel a prickling in my eyes and throat and swallow. "We can - we should call him," I say then. "Or ask Miami - he's got to know where Freddie is. He's still our manager after all, no matter what,"

"What sort of deal Fred brokered to keep right on working with Mack, yeah," Roger sniffs and stands to take charge now. Thank heavens for him, as he draws Brian's face into his chest and pushes his hands through those curls. Dragging out all the torment, hopefully, as we have something to do now. A goal in mind. 

" - I'll go in, Miami's number is in the kitchen." We have an extension out here, so can call now. I'm up and moving. Hate to be idle anyhow. "As we're all here we should probably call to talk, erm, check with him," I say. "I mean, you two can talk, I'll just -"

"Dry up?" Rog and Bri speak at the same time, Brian's voice half-muffled in Roger's shirtfront, his hands wrapped around Roger's back. The twinkling of Rog's eyes and how quick they both speak in unison causes a giggle to bubble up in my throat unbidden. They know me so well; I laugh and Roger does too, throwing back his head as Brian starts to chuckle, sounding creaky at first but soon it becomes a real hearty guffaw. We all join together in a lusty laugh. It seems the first real one we've had in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *'Death on Two Legs' was written by Freddie in '75 about their first manager, "a real motherfucker of a gentleman" as Freddie himself said. I write from ambiguity and conjecture as to what precisely happened when the band dealt with their money being stolen by Trident via Norman Sheffield, which contributed to the fact that Miami later became their manager after a stint with John Reid that lasted until about 1977, '78. 
> 
> I don't know precisely what Norman Sheffield did apart from stealing royalties, but Freddie's lyrics in 'Death on Two Legs' give some really sad possibilities
> 
> *EDIT the tour for the Works had been going in '84 and yet Freddie was still going solo through early '85, thus the boys are lamenting his absence
> 
> I've got a bit of an idea where to go now, thank goodness. (Thanks for your support on chapter 4, aufdem_dach! And of course to Toinette93 for reassuring me that you don't mind reading angst)
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's in dad mode
> 
> Warning, though more of a heads up is that kids are gross sometimes. There is talk about bodily functions and fecal matter below

"Miami will know where Fred is and we can sort this out. Roger stop tangling up the phone cord, please," I find myself speaking as I have to my children on various occasions; most of them being when Veronica was unavailable or indisposed. I've got to be the bad guy sometimes too. Rog makes a face and moves but is tugged down to sit by Brian, whose eyes watch my movements intently as I'd gone and got the number, now sliding my fingers round the rotary dial.

I hold out and tilt the handset so we all can hear as the call goes through to our manager, who's sighing after I say hello "Hullo, John, no I haven't looked over the figures you sent yet. Not everyone is as on blooming top as you - honestly, do you sleep, lad?"

Brian moves his head back and forth with a little hiss of air between his teeth as Roger settles his chin into his hands and looks up at me, those blue eyes huge and mirthful. "He's got a point there, mate."

I cough, embarrassed at the attention. "Well, erm, I've got - what's it - four children who I hope are currently not running all over the house - Robert, get your brother off the sofa, please! Sorry," I had turned to look through the open door of our covered porch where the boys and I are sitting and into the living room, where my second-eldest son is treating the furniture like his own personal jungle gym. "Laura, will you take Josh to the loo, please?" I call as she and her brother come into view. "- We're potty training," I offer to the others, along with Miami over the phone. Close my eyes a moment and laugh at the ludicrous nature of this, and the fact that I'm embarrassed, even if Bri and Rog know at least a bit of what this experience is like. Being a stay-at-home dad, well. Since we've been off a couple years - intermittent with last tour and album, it's been lovely, actually. My chest aches a bit at the thought of possibly going out on tour again and leaving me kids. Not seeing them every day, well it's always been hard. But now I've been round so often it's going to be way worse when we go out again. If we go out again.

I'd hoped I wouldn't have to duck into the main room, mostly I prayed that I wouldn't need to explain to my already shouting seven-year-old what the word 'fuck' meant. But the door had been mostly closed when Roger's fury exploded, and Robert is responsible, good at keeping his head. Laura's quite steady on as well, whilst two-year-old Joshua laughs hysterically at every one of Michael's antics, which does nothing to lessen any of them. On the contrary. Michael is quite the bright spark in more ways than one, and I'm lucky I've been able to divert my attention from him without something drastic happening.

Returning my attention to the phone, I say "Actually, Miami, we have a more pressing question about Freddie and I'm going to hand you to Bri and Rog for a bit." Unless they want to try wrangling the children, I cock my head and spread my arms as Laura screeches and there is, in fact, a crash from the room beyond. "Oh I kept the DOOR open, too! Is everyone alright?" I run out to check on the kids, scooping up Josh as he toddles to me extending his little arms. Laura latches onto my leg, in tears.

Rob is pulling Michael off the floor, which he'd clearly tumbled to from his spot standing in back of the couch, and the broom along with a toppled lamp and broken lightbulb tells the rest of the story. Looks as though Mike intended to do some pole-vaulting across the couch. Lampshade is dented and off, and I see the glitter of bulb glass. "Oops! Soft feet, now, everybody on the couch, go carefully." Robert and I have our shoes on, and he picks up the fallen broom to sweep away debris after shoving Michael down on the couch and saying something sharply. 

I take Josh and Laura to the couch as well and crouch before them all. "Over here, please, Robert," I say. He stops sweeping and obliges me. "Now. Is anybody injured?" 

Laura sniffles and shakes her head, smearing tears across her cheeks as she cries - over all the excitement, probably, and the fact something is broken. "No glass in your feet? Michael, did you hit your head?"

My second son is squirming but shakes said appendage. "No I didn't, Daddy," he says.

"All right, good. Now, how did that lightbulb end in pieces on the floor?" I focus on them all for an answer, not calling anyone to task and I don't raise my voice. Ronnie's the one who gets a little loud. I figure I've shouted enough in studio and when under the influence of drinking that I haven't got a reason to shout at my kids. So. "Just say what happened," I encourage them.

Laura speaks up at last after sniffles and eyes darting round and Michael definitely debating doing a runner. "I took Josh to potty," she tells me.

"I pooped!" My youngest beams with delight at his accomplishment. I make a mental note to tell Veronica as I smile and nod at him for a job well done.

"...But it smelled bad and Mike was waving the broom around to take the smell away," Robert continues. "And he was still on the back of the couch even though I _told_ him you said to get off." Michael makes a face at Robert. "You know that's what I said! So I tried to get the broom and he swung it round while jumping away from me, so it smashed the lamp and he fell off the couch, Dad. And that's how the lightbulb broke." He nods once at the conclusion of his story, and I focus now on Michael.

"Is that what happened, Mike?" I ask.

"Yeah," he grumbles, but instantly adds "But they said they were gonna put poop on me!"

"Who said? Laura and Josh?"

Josh giggles.

"Yeah!"

"I wasn't actually," Laura sniffles. "He was just being loud and saying Josh didn't go to potty right and I said he did, and to prove it I could put poop on him."

"That's gross!"

"YOU'RE gross!"

"Okay," I pinch the bridge of my nose between two fingers. "First, no one is putting poo on anyone, or threatening to do it, because that is unsanitary and could make you sick if it gets anywhere near your face or mouth. Yes, alright," there is a chorus of ewwws from everyone. Robert even scrunches his face and makes a noise. "Yes, well. We don't do that, it's gross, that's right. And second, erm, we need to use our words to explain things to each other. Michael, you shouldn't say your brother can't do something right unless you know he didn't, and then it would be better to show him how, instead of making fun, wouldn't it? How would you feel if he said you couldn't... jump right?"

Pushing out his lips, pouting in a manner that reminds me so much of Roger I freeze a moment, Michael finally scuffs his foot on the floor and grumbles "I wouldn't like it," he admits.

"Right, you wouldn't. And Laura, you didn't like what he said about Josh, that bothered you, yes?"

She bites her lip and nods. "Yes it did, Daddy," speaks in a small voice.

"That's okay, it's good you stuck up for your brother. But what else could you say to Michael?"

"Tell h - don't say that, it's not nice!" She swipes the air, points at Mike and he makes a face.

"Okay, that's it, but just words, yes? And last we don't want people brandishing broomsticks and jumping around. Because what could have happened?" I ask all of them.

Josh scrunches up his face like he is thinking extra hard. Robert nods along with me, and Laura speaks up again timidly. "We, could get hurt?"

"Exactly," I nod at her. "And that would be the worst thing in the world, Laura. It would make mummy and me really sad if any of you got hurt. So we want to be careful of things and of each other, and play safely, yes?"

"Yes," they look at each other and then me.

"And we'll work on using our words to express ourselves, instead of fists and feet?" 

There's a bit of shuffling at that, but eventually "Um, okay. Yes."

"Yes Daddy," Laura's voice is as solemn as if she's Flash Gordon ready to save the world. "I promise. WE promise," she stares hard at Michael.

I almost smile at the sight of his expression, face red and scrunched up as if he thought Laura was telling tales on him, but at last he acquiesces. '...'Kay," he grunts.

I do smile then as I get the dust pan and Robert sweeps the glass in. "Now, since your uncles Brian and Roger are here, I was thinking we might be able to order takeaway. IF," I hold up a hand "If we're all calm and good and don't run around the house causing a ruckus. Okay?" I nudge Josh. "Now Josh, go see if you flushed the toilet, and the rest of you let's go into the kitchen. We'll have to ask Mum her choice when she gets home, but I want you all to sit down at the table and think about what you'd like to eat quietly, okay? I need to go check on your uncles." 

Robert helps Laura into her chair, and Michael has already grabbed the menus we use, spreading them out to look at. Robert gets Josh as he comes in again proudly, as I hear the toilet flush first. "Good lad, now wash your hands," I remind him before I turn and head back out on the porch. 

Hopefully, with a little less shenanigans, Brian and Roger have found a way to contact Freddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well John has four kids at this juncture and I'm basing their ages as close to '85 as I can. I also figured he's a bit more verbose with his children, gotta parent them. And he's got plenty experience from dealing with Rog ;P
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little departure into domestic life, I do still want to be respectful of John's privacy. All of the actions and characteristics of his family come from my inference alone
> 
> What did Roger and Brian learn meanwhile? Who knows...
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	7. Chapter 7

I pause at the half-open door out to the covered porch, wondering what I'm going to see, if Bri and Rog got to talk to Freddie or not. And I can't help feeling a twist of ice stab and sink into my gut, the shiver that comes every once in a while, telling me something like: _they've known each other longer, they're more of a family than you've ever been; there's something extra between them._

Goes back to the first album we did, where all the songs were composed and written, just needed a good bass line. I could plug in, yes, but I think of times in studio, when Freddie was orchestrating some piece and he'd ask Brian to come differentiate his two tracks with guitar, and Roger to work on the drums, instantly without thought. Melding them all together as I sat back and waited and asked for more bass, please. Always asked, til I took more space for myself. I pushed for more work, and got it on our last album, last two; but I'm now afraid I pushed too much, and maybe that means we can't work again. Nothing is the same.

I lean in the doorway as I see Brian and Roger leaning in to each other, black curls layered alongside soft gold, pale skin with warmer tones, dark eyes with light. And then Roger grunts out something and hangs up the phone, his eyes lifting to mine and sending something back to me, making me warm again as his blue irises spark. "You're back, Deaks, c'mere."

I nod and walk over to them, automatically nestling against Roger's side as he reaches out and wraps one warm arm around my middle. It's so reminiscent of Freddie that I suck in air and have to stop tears. I do hope Freddie's all right. 

I look at Roger and Brian, clear my throat. "Erm, what's the news?" I ask hesitantly. "Everything okay?"

Brian and Roger look at each other and Brian scrunches his lips a bit. "Well, it's, you see, Miami says Freddie hasn't been returning his calls while he's been in Munich with Mack."

"And he's tried a good deal," Roger puts in, that high tone sharpening. "I'd say bloody Prenter or someone is behind the lack of messages coming through, as I've also been leaving some."

I look askance at Rog, and even Brian seems surprised. Roger huffs at us. "oh come on, I wasn't about to let Fred flake out on us! He's not getting away that bloody easily, no matter if he doesn't know what Queen stands for! I do, and it's for us." Rog whips his index finger round. "All four of us."

I get a lump in my throat. The fact Roger still thinks this, even after all that happened during and after Hot Space. Well, he's loyal through and through. Freddie's always said so, and I see it, now. 

I look to Brian, who seems emotional too; he glances up at me and asks if everything's all right with the kids, softly, and then he says as Roger demands why he'd got off to that, "We're still a family, Rog, and I want to make sure everyone in my family's all right. Good?" He nods and I nod back.

"Good."

"And if Freddie isn't taking calls, well, we'll just have to speak with him directly." Brian, diplomatic Brian, or at least in every public setting I've seen him, looks downright determined. "No matter if he wants to see us or not. I, I mean I won't force him if he doesn't," he backtracks a bit, shrinking down. "It's his choice not to talk to us..."

"Oh, bollocks," Roger snaps. "Why would he not want to talk to us, Brian? We got that album done, we've listened to his, and we want to work with him again as Queen. I don't see any downsides to this."

"And we still love him," I don't plan to speak aloud, but something makes me say it. "He - he's always protected us, and loves us completely. I think..." I take a deep breath. "Well, I think that he needs us as much as we do him, and we ought to tell him that. I'd -" words are failing, so I shrug and taper off "...if I were him, I'd want to know."

There's silence for a moment, and I feel it tingling on my back and neck, feel the uncertainty of our interactions lately. But then I feel Roger's warmth rising up and his arms have tugged me to put my head against his neck. He hugs me tight as I feel Brian's hand drop hesitant on the back of my head. I could nearly cry to feel that, we haven't done this in so long. "Brilliant, Deacy, brilliant," Roger's warm breath tickles my ear as he whispers a reply. 

"Yes," Brian's voice is thick as he stands with us. I think I feel his fingers stroke my head once or twice, but the touch is so brief and gentle, so hesitant that I cannot be sure. "Yes, we've got to get to Freddie."

"Get through to him too," I say.

"Besides, heard something else from Miami - apparently Bob Geldorf is putting an event together. Something called Live Aid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie not answering calls could very well be because he was busy with his album, or hadn't good reception, or was never near a phone; I don't want to definitively stick to the Bohemian Rhapsody filmic route and state Paul Prenter wasn't giving him the messages, because I cannot know that from research. 
> 
> Whatever the reason is, the boys are going to pin their Freddie down somehow :)
> 
> *John Deacon said in an interview that Queen had all the songs written for their first album and only needed his bass bits added in. He stated in that interview that they all were closer, and mentioned "might have been my insecurities a little bit" so I wondered if he still felt such things years later
> 
> *Bob Geldorf apparently talked to Miami more than once about Live Aid
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this, comments appreciated <3


	8. Chapter 8

We can't go out to find Freddie now, it's getting late, and I hear the sound of a vehicle coming up and several sets of voices shrieking "Mummy's home!" In unison. There's a thud and clatter as feet fly through the house and the door opens to admit the loveliest laugh that is Veronica's.

"Hello dears, well you all are quite chipper and chuffed this evening! Did you have a good day with your father?"

"Hi Mum!"

"Yes, an' he says we can have takeaway for supper, 'cause uncle Brian and uncle Roger are here." I hear an intake of breath and feel Brian grasp my shoulder as Roger beams over this moniker. 

"... They've always known you like that," I say softly. "Well, er. I probably should've asked, but it made more sense than putting you as godparents, as they get so much from having an uncle Freddie too -"

"Deaks, it's alright, mate, I'm proper chuffed," Roger's eyes are alight. "Just means I've got to come round more and see my niece and nephews!" He opens up the door into the rest of the house and proper whoops at them, going over with a "Ronnie, how lovely to see you, looking fantastic as ever." He's definitely kissed her cheek as the sounds from our children indicate.

"...Roger," my sweet wife's voice is only slightly exasperated, I can tell she's unimpressed, nigh confused, as my recent mentions of Rog and Brian haven't been wholly positive ones. I wince a bit as Rog definitely notices her tone of voice and withdraws, saying it's lovely to see her from a little distance. 

And Brian, perceptive Brian, can tell instantly the tenor of the room as he steps in apologetically, saying "Veronica, I must apologise for the pair of us dropping by unannounced like this. I'm sure we're some of the last people you and John expected or wanted to see...."

With bags in her arms from the shop, my sweet Ronnie's eyes catch mine and she sizes up everything in my expression, to catalogue if this is all right. My eyes crinkle as I nod, and she relaxes. "Well it's not usual for you boys to go on hiatus in the first place, so barging into the house could be par for the course for all I know. John," she strides over and gives me a kiss before asking "Are they staying for supper, then?"

I raise my brows at Rog and Brian. "I did tell the kids they would be, and we can't exactly go after Freddie today, so may as well kip for the night too. I'll do the guest bed," I whisper to Veronica as she stares archly at me.

"You'd better."

Brian opens his mouth, brow already furrowed, but Roger pipes up first "Well can't disappoint the wee bairns," he calls out. "And I think a rousing game of squash is in order." He grins over at the kids, who've come close, stopping just a bit in shyness til he mentions a game. 

Squash...

"Oh no, Roger, not inside!"

***

We all crowd round the table, though it's big enough for us and as I look at Rog and Brian sitting with the kids, smiling over the food - Brian is holding a bowl for Michael and Roger is crossing his eyes as he licks a spoon and sticks it on his nose. He's got Laura giggling before we unpack the takeaway, which is Chinese, as that was closest place that has reliable vegetarian options for Brian. He thanks Veronica, and me, shifting a bit, says he doesn't want to cause any trouble; any _more_ I hear the subsequent word in the heaviness of his tone as he looks at me. At least he's meeting my eyes, though I'm still working on holding his. Looks so wounded and contrite that I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes, even though he does seem truly sore and sorry. For what in particular I'd like to know, but that's too much a petty thing to be asking, and Roger's stuffing his face and telling us to "siddown or all the bloomin' spring rolls will be gone!"

I stifle a giggle before Ronnie hisses at me to get control of Roger, as Michael and Josh are looking at his ability to stuff himself with appraising eyes. Well, Mike is, and whatever he does, Josh will follow suit. So "Rog," I clear my throat and wipe my mouth with a napkin, moving my eyebrows all about as I try to get him to swallow his current bite at least somewhat politely before taking another. He waggles his brows back at me, completely missing my point, perhaps on purpose.

But Brian jabs his side with a bony elbow and that does the trick.

We stay up to entertain the kids, Roger suggests cards but I'm fresh out of anything to bet with and Veronica nixes his cheeky suggestion of strip poker even faster than Brian. "... Freddie would've done it," Roger pouts at us all, traipsing upstairs like a scolded child.

"Yeah, well Freddie doesn't have four kids, Roger."

"Everyone's got bodies, nothing wrong with learning anatomy at a young age!"

"Please never teach kids," my wife breathes out shock as Brian says that, and he actually bursts out laughing again.

"Rog, I hate to imagine what it'll be like when you give your children the Talk," I say as I turn on the lights in the guest room and begin turning down sheets for them. "There's only one bed unless someone wants to crash in Josh's room."

"It's a nursery," Laura speaks solemnly. "And I don't think it's ready for..." She points to Roger. "Uncle Rog 'nanigans."

Brian appears absolutely floored by this, and Rog is so shocked he hasn't even got a witty comeback for my earlier comment.

"Fair enough assessment," our drummer shrugs, helpless underneath my daughter's logical six-year-old onslaught. "I'll just cuddle up with Brian then. Keep us warm," he wiggles his brows at the kids and grabs Laura to tickle her til she shrieks with giggles. 

"Alright that's enough, unless you want to wind them down after you wind them up?" A quick glance assures us that no, that is not a preferred course of action, thanks much. So there are hugs instead, and a swooping of Josh into his bed by Brian, and then it's my job to show my guests the amenities.

"Bathroom is here," I show them "And if you need anything..."

"Thanks," says Brian. "But I think we'll be alright." He strokes the ruffled gold hair of Rog.

Roger grumbles "...Our bloody lead singer back is what we need," and that makes us three sober up before we come together for a brief hug.

"G'night John."

"Sleep well Brian."

"Night Deacy,"

"Sweet dreams, Rog." I pause outside my door after our farewell, and murmur "Miss you, Freddie," into the hall. 

I hope we can find him, perhaps he's back in London from his album, and we can speak. It's distressing that he wouldn't have taken any calls, but tomorrow is a new day. I nod sharply as I check on the kids again "No, Laura, I promise there's nothing under your bed, I checked" before going downstairs for water and then waiting for one to pee and then after all that hearing a cheeky

"What if there's something under MY bed, oh monster defeating John?"

I don't think before I call back "Just give it Brian!" And then I freeze in horror, sure that will be another nail in the coffin of us not understanding one another, but Brian's voice retorts coolly

"I'll just push Roger down there to talk or scream it to death."

"How dare you!" A dramatically affronted intake of air precedes what sounds suspiciously akin to a pillow fight. 

"Oh - sod - _off_ , Roger!" 

"You started this by being abominably cheeky, so you deserve it!"

I wait a moment and bark out "That's it, lights off!"

There's silence, and a meek-sounding apology, to my amazement. Also what could be giggles as I call a final "good night!" To the four children and two bandmates who act about as mature as the youngest of them. 

Things already feel brighter, I haven't any tightness in my chest now. Band break up talk has been avoided. We're going to reconnect with Freddie. We've got to. 

Because we love him, and each other, and always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger is ridiculous, and Laura is very aware of his... 'nanigans :P
> 
> Hopefully I'll write them with Freddie next chapter, yay!
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	9. Chapter 9

I wake up early next morning as I do every morning, can't bear to be idle too long. I leave Veronica asleep, careful to tuck the blanket around her, and check in on the kids - Josh is usually up and at 'em early, but due to the excitement of games last night after supper (Roger had gotten a few out of us after all) and the overall excitement of the day, he's still asleep. I peer into the guest room as I pass to see Roger and Brian tangled up in bedclothes and each other, Brian's head at what will likely be an uncomfortable angle once he wakes, his hair tangled and spread across the pillow as Roger's body is practically flung across his, face pressed to Brian's bony shoulder and torso crushing his chest, Brian's knees all bent up because unfortunately it's not the largest bed in the world. But he's fast asleep, real heavy breaths emanating from him, and Roger of course is snoring. Perhaps our decision to talk to Freddie someway has calmed them both, smoothed the jitters I saw in Roger yesterday when he exploded in fury over what Freddie had done. And Brian...

Brian is so melancholic, even as he spit out the sly joke about Freddie not completing any laundry list, of apologies or otherwise, he'd looked wounded, pitiful. Not solely that, though, in his face there was almost...guilt. Whatever the specific or general reasons he'd felt so guilty, they're smoothed out of his sleeping face, and I resolve to have coffee with sugar and some sort of breakfast for both Bri and Roger when they wake. 

Heading downstairs, I pause at the creaky step we've got, and think of the fact I need to probably go into the understairs cupboard to strengthen the wood, there's a deep fissure in that could very well take this step down someday. But I can fix it, I'm an alright hand at fixing things. Things that aren't... human, haven't got messes and feelings that get all stirred up and are sometimes hard to read. I think about last time we really had to deal with a cupboard, when Roger'd locked himself in it to pout over his car song and how it should be the B-Side of A Night at the Opera. It was a joke back then, how we didn't listen to him until he MADE us listen, but what if - if we'd all made sure to be receptive, maybe Hot Space wouldn't have felt like such a train wreck afterwards. It felt like that in the studio for The Works sometimes, when Brian would spit out he needed some air and Roger would smoke three times as many cigarettes whilst Mack worked his tracks to sound like drum machines.... I blink and keep on walking down the rest of the stairs as my feet twinge, starting to cramp a bit on the one where I'd curled my toes and stayed. I feel some guilt too, really. I know I wasn't a peach to work with on the previous album, tried to taper off this last. I'd worked so hard to get some way that I went off on the power of it. Dear Freddie obliged me, and that's part of what sticks. He did that to the exclusion of Brian and Rog - we both did.

I just, well. Never mind what I didn't think about then, I'm thinking now, and seeing how I'd hurt them, Roger and Brian, and Freddie was going out and doing all these things to keep going, I think. I meant what I said when hearing how his voice sounds on those solo songs. It worries me. I pull down mugs and start up the coffee machine, hearing it roar to life as I grind beans and pour them in, adding hot water. Should get the paper too, but just for a moment I'm frozen there at the kitchen window, opening it a bit to look out across the fields where mist rises up as the rose-gold and pale yellow of the sky begins brightening up to a blue not unlike Roger's eyes. 

Brian would want to get a photograph of this, his fingers itching to snap, and Freddie would certainly sketch or paint something of it, but they'd miss the silence, the comfortable absence of sound, just a tiny breeze helping the mist dissipate as the sun rises. That's how we were as a band once, I think, and how I hope we can be again; able to just stand with each other, support and build ourselves up. We're four parts of a whole, I thought, and still do think. Queen's stuck around this long because of the same four people. I nod sharply as the coffee quits roasting and I pour myself a cup, lifting it in a silent toast. We're all four still round and meant to be together. 

And we've still got work left to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a somber chapter, almost. Not sure how best to describe it, but I wanted to go into John's head a bit. He's a thinking man, our Deacy, with a quiet understatement and somehow also directness that I enjoy writing. What do you think of the way I characterise him?
> 
> *I'm not clear on exactly what sort of cupboard Roger cloistered himself in to get 'I'm In Love With My Car' as the B-Side for Night at the Opera, but him hunkered down under stairs seems dramatic enough ;P
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	10. Chapter 10

I've gotten a few sips into my coffee when I hear a quiet measured tread on the stairs and then coming into the kitchen, followed by a clomping far louder tread. Entering with hair still a little tousled from sleep but his clothes still mostly presentable, how does he manage to do that? is Brian. Roger stumbles blearily after him and grunts at me in a noncommittal fashion as I offer up a quiet "morning" to the both of them. 

Brian offers me a tiny close-mouthed smile that crinkles his eyes. I get down a mug and pass it to him, pouring coffee and putting in two lumps of sugar as I recall. His hands flutter around the handle as his body stiffens. In surprise, perhaps, that I would remember. His eyes flicker back up to me and I tell him "Go on and sit down, Brian." To which he does, carefully settling his lanky limbs into the kitchen chair and sipping his coffee. The next mug I get and pour coffee in for Roger, but do not bother putting in his sugar, figure he ought to be the one to do that. "You can get your own one and three-seventh sugars, Rog," I say, and his ruffled head rises out of his arms, which he'd wasted no time plopping down across from Brian and putting his face into.

He growls at me "F' fuck's sake, Deacy, that was _one time!_ "

"One time, repeated on every subsequent occasion that someone goes for coffee because you think you're funny," Brian mutters into his own cup.

Roger sticks out his tongue and roughs up his hair even more, tilting his head and picking up the sugar spoon I give him as I place the bowl down. "Sod off, I'm hilarious. Cheers, mate," he smiles at me whilst scooping sugar with the spoon.

"Well, now that's settled," I get out a skillet. "-Eggs?" I inquire, and Brian lifts his head and looks like he's staring right through me. I expect some comment about the fact he can't stomach a rasher of bacon or something, but instead 

"I was thinking we should check if Freddie's come home as of yet. I mean the album's come out, he hasn't got to be in Munich anymore, or Montreux -"

"'Cept he loves it round there, Brian, c'mon," Roger shakes his head with a yawn, clanging the sugar spoon down. "And I am not going on a bloody boat or train to Montreux, be clear on that."

Brian glares daggers across the table, whether due to the noise of the spoon or what Roger has said, I dunno. Rog keeps clinking the spoon against the side of his mug, though, and Bri closes his eyes. "Right. Well, Miami isn't the only source, I'm sure Phoebe or Joe could tell us if Fred's been out and about in London after touring."

"He may be going to one of his bars," I suggest. "Like, ah,"

"The Heaven!" Roger snaps his fingers and puts his mug down with a loud clunk. He sticks his finger in the sugar bowl now and I'm forced to abscond with it. Thought I only had to worry about Michael doing that. "Ugh, you're no fun, John." Rog pouts at me, but is excited enough to swiftly say "- that's the place Fred goes with Elton, innit? Could ask EJ if he's seen Freddie recently."

"Oh and then everyone and their roadie in the pop rock world is going to learn that Queen has misplaced her lead singer, Rog," Brian returns. "Be reasonable, it'll only take one person to tell the press."

"And, boom," I say quietly as I put butter in the frying pan to sizzle before cracking in eggs. 

"Fuckin ray of sunshine, I swear," Roger grouses, but I don't disagree with Bri. The press has been downright nasty to us since we ended up our last world tour in South Africa.

"Even if they can't find out something, they'll make it up," I say of the press hounds, and Rog waves his hand at me irritably. 

"Don't encourage him, Deacy."

"What should we do then?"

"We'll just have to go by Garden Lodge and see what's what. And if he could be at the Heaven, well...," Brian and I share a glance with one another. "You've got experience, Roger."

"Bollocks, that was seven years ago, and my birthday, and both times we were in America! It's different here, there's sorts of, trends and things, yeah. Trade secrets, as it were. You've got to know people." Roger's high voice is quiet, actually, and matter of fact. Bri's curls bounce as he nods at Roger pointedly before glancing back over at me.

"And there you have it," I return a nod. "Of us three, you certainly know the most people, Roger."

Gulping more coffee, "Oh sod it," Rog snaps. "It's about knowing _certain_ people, more like, and --y'know what, I see. Neither of you want to do it, risk mussing your image, well, I'm up for dragging your minging arses down there myself so we can find our dearest Freddie and --get him back!" His voice breaks then, he blinks and ducks his head, those calloused fingers curling into fists, his strong shoulders trembling. "We've got to get him - I'll go to any bloody club in the world -" 

"All right, Rog," I say, turning heat off under the eggs and stepping round the island to put my hand on his shoulder. Brian reaches out to him in concern. "Right, erm, we can -"

"We're going to find him," Brian sniffles and settles his chin. "It's not like he's physically lost somewhere, yeah? We'll go with you, I'm sorry."

"It'd just be simpler if he was at home," I add, wrapping my arms around Rog. He buries his face into my chest as though he were one of the kids, and I can feel how hard he's started shaking. "Oh, Roger."

He shakes his head, clutching me tightly. "...I fucked it up," I think he's said, but he's mumbling into the cloth of my v-neck and so I can't quite make out the words. Some of my chest hair tickles his round cheek. He makes a face but doesn't move, and I haven't a single clue what to say, as per usual.

We simply stay there until Brian stands and blurts "Oh! The eggs!" He finds a plate as I nod towards which cabinet they are in, and breaks the three eggs apart with a spatula before bringing plates over. Puts them on the table and wraps his long arms around us both, holding tight as I do. As Roger does to all his feeling, hope and fear and anger, and that bright loyal spark that's never, not once, gone out. 

I really catch what Freddie means to him, what he means to all of us as we stay here in this circle. And I know we've got to tell Fred. Bring him back to us in the emotional sense, and help him see how much he means, and that he's meant to always be with us. We're a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I will never forget the bit of audio from studio where Roger asked for a coffee with one and three-seventh sugars in it. Dunno if he got it.
> 
> *Freddie's solo album was recorded from 1983 to 1985 in Munich, with Reinhold Mack. After their Hot Space tour he kept going it alone
> 
> *Joe Fanelli and Peter Freestone were very close to Freddie, so would be likely to know his whereabouts even if Miami didn't
> 
> I promise this isn't going to be all serious and sad, I hope to write lovely things soon
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	11. Chapter 11

We eat our eggs, the three of us, Roger gulping his and Brian fixedly staring as though the yolk could somehow tell him where to go from here. I've been home a bit longer now than ever before, even as we've just finished our tour for The Works. Thing was, it _felt_ like work, for the first time. This has always been a hobby, like I told the boys, and maybe that's a reason they came, barging into the house ostensibly to razz Freddie's solo album, but with something else underneath. As I'm certain of now, as Roger sniffs and surreptitiously swipes at his eyes with one thumb. I want to ask him more about what he'd said, about fucking up, but he's moodily chewing, and so is Brian.

Besides there's skidding and sliding and pattering feet upstairs just then, and then a sound of solid contact, a groan and wails that precede my brows rising and then I'm running up to the landing, to see Veronica scooping up Josh and holding out a hand to Robert, whose face is frightfully pale, and I realise as Josh continues crying out, that he'd come raring out his door to go to potty and Robert had been coming out of the loo. Our youngest has a hard head, and he's just about the size to hurt an unfortunate place if he's moving fast. Oh, dear. "Robert," I say, "let's head downstairs, get you some water, walk this off, yeah?" 

"Okay," he gasps, still looking mildly ill, but takes my hand and gingerly walks around his mum and brother, Laura and Michael peeking out their door with wide eyes. 

"It's alright, you both can come down too," I lean over and peck Veronica on the cheek. "Morning, sunshine," I say, and she smiles at me, smoothing back Josh's hair as he gulps and cries more. "Oh don't worry, mummy's gonna wash your face and you can come down, and you didn't mean to run into Robert, right?" He's blubbering and shaking his head. "No, I know. You're okay," I tell him, and herd the others downstairs, asking if anyone wants porridge.

There are guffaws rather than tears when Roger hears about what happened, after a clenching of teeth in sympathy. Brian winces as he pats my eldest son on the shoulder and offers a chair that Robert carefully slides into, still walking with legs apart, moving slow. Mike starts to make a fuss over porridge.

"I don't want that!" 

"What do you want then?"

"Toast, with jam!"

"Oh well I was going to make some of that as well, but I'm also making porridge, so how about you try that and then have toast?"

"No!"

"Mmm, that porridge looks quite lovely, Laura," Brian leans over to her as my daughter sprinkles a bit of sugar in her bowl. She beams at him.

"You can have some, Uncle Brian," she pushes the bowl over to him.

"Oh, that's very sweet, but I don't want to take your breakfast," he says, lifting those elegant hands.

And she says something her mum always does "Don't be silly, I'll get another spoon." Hops off her chair and goes to the utensil drawer, that's a bit high for her but she is determined and so manages to stand on her tiptoes and feel inside. 

I put a bowl down for Robert, who has at last ceased to grimace, and he asks for milk, quietly. As I hand the jug over to him, Roger says "...Pity your dad can't put something stronger in, that'd probably help the pain." He nods in a conspirational manner. "Sure I could find something."

Brian hisses "Roger!" 

And I can't help but chuckle as Rog responds, innocent, "What?"

"He's only ten!" 

"Start early then!"

"You are an absolutely horrible influence," Bri groans, and my daughter pats his arm and offers a spoon as he puts his face in his hands.

"Do you have a headache?" She asks.

"Your uncle Roger is my headache," Brian replies, and when her face scrunches up in confusion, he says "Well, it's like, do you ever get frustrated with your brothers because they're acting ridiculous?"

"Yes!" Laura speaks without a second of hesitation.

"Well then you understand. Rog is like a brother to me."

"You're brothers?" She asks, and Michael puts down the spoon he'd been pushing porridge around with ever since I brought his bowl over.

"But you're not the same size at all, and you have different hair."

Roger smacks his lips. "Astute, he is."

"We're brothers of a sort," replies Brian in a gentle way. "Even as he annoys me, I'm here for him, and he for me. Family is like that," he looks at my children, and then to me as I come to stand by Michael in hopes to make him eat. In Bri's face is surety I don't see too often from him outside studio work, and I can't figure it til he says "And we're going to see someone else in our family after breakfast."

Roger whistles. "That soon, eh? You know Fred doesn't get up this early, Bri."

"We can walk round," I offer before Brian's face has the chance to fall. "There's no time like the present." He looks at me with something like gratitude, and I feel warm. "I'll just have to check with Ronnie," I say after several beats of silence. "I'm supposed to have the kids."

Clinking of utensils precedes Roger's voice, like he's had the most fabulous idea: "Why not take them to see Freddie with us?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Josh running right into Robert with his hard head is something that happened to a friend of mine with his kid and let's just say there was a lot of pain, and like Josh, she started crying because she had no idea what happened just that she'd hurt him. That kind of stuff happens, and you really can't do much but walk it off....
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	12. Chapter 12

As usual, it seems, I'm tugged into a whirlwind of movement and decision-making without much verbal say in the matter. Although this time it could be due to the fact I've gotten myself all worked up in my worry for Freddie now, being alone. Thus I don't rightly focus (much) on Brian murmuring to Veronica as Roger gets all the dirty dishes and haphazardly stacks them in the sink, grinning and saying we'll have to clean 'em up later, or maybe someone else will. 

He winks and nudges Laura, who lets out a giggle. Brian sighs heavily, grousing something along the lines of "of course it'll be meself or John that does the bloody dishes and not you, Roger, just like old days" Roger sticks out his tongue, yet he does get Michael and Laura to wash their hands, and Bri helps find shoes and packs for drinks and snacks and toys, and I blink myself into awareness as my wife puts our youngest in his seat-pack that we take on excursions, and Robert comes over to take Josh's little hand in his because the poor boy is still sniffling over his accidental brush with his brother earlier. 

"...Er, what's going?" I ask, and Ronnie pats my shoulders, kisses my cheek.

"You and the boys are taking the kids on a day trip, of course," she says brightly like this has all been figured, and then "Don't worry, I gave my work phone to Brian, and they've all got enough in bags to entertain them. I just... I know you boys need to go see Freddie today, and I'm sure these bairns need to get out excess energy, hmm?" She's cocking her head at Roger, I find, who's bouncing on his feet with our Mike clutching his hand. I giggle even as my initial response was to sigh heavily. There is just something about Rog with his sunny smile and sparkling gaze, so like my son's, as he roughs up Robert's hair cheekily and Brian solemnly takes hold of Laura's hand. 

I feel a warmth in my chest that these dear people are all banding together, with me, to go and see our dearest Freddie. I kiss Veronica deeply as a thanks and tell her "See you later, love," as she holds open the front door for us to head through. Luckily before the beginning of the end of breakfast I'd been tossed an overshirt and trousers, pulling some boots on as I follow the rest out. It's lovely outside, and I hope that bodes well for us finding and chatting with Freddie. Everything seems anticipatory, yet calm.

At least until I pause on the porch with Josh leaning against my neck and my middle son yelps "We're taking the tube!" 

I look at Brian and then at Roger, the former who huffs out a breathy laugh and the latter who expels his own excited crow.

On the tube, though. With all these, plus the noise and all... Oh. 

Oh boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'll have to refresh a bit of my knowledge on the underground now
> 
> Bless Veronica, even with just a little chat from Brian, or probably before, she knows these men need to go and see Freddie, and is sure the kids will make things lighter for them. And I'm weak for daddy-esque Brian and Roger being a goofy uncle to John's kids
> 
> Reactions appreciated <3


	13. Chapter 13

We get on the tube at East Putney, and the kids all know how we do, "Got to stay together, hold hands now".

Even Robert studiously takes a hold of Roger's hand, shooting Mike a quelling look as my middle man does love the trains and tends to be a bit loud on them. It's his normal volume, but this time even Roger is sensible enough to offer a sit down and

"Let's look out the windows, yeah? What d'you see, Michael?" He grins over at me to add "I can't make out a bloody thing" with a chortle that I can't help but return. Robert stands next to the seat where Michael sits on Roger's lap and he keeps holding fast to Rog's shoulder, which makes Roger blink and look back a couple times, but there's a softness in his face and he pats my serious boy's hand once, eyes crinkled up in a manner that causes mine to smart a bit. I check on Joshua and duck my head to glance behind where Brian has stayed standing. Laura rests on his hip, her arms around his shoulders. Bri holds her with one long hand as the other hangs onto the ceiling rail and he talks softly over the sound of the tracks and all. I think he's saying something about the circus to her, dunno, but we are coming up on Piccadilly after five stops and a turn.

We're getting to another train and it's right by Kensington, which makes Rog call out about the stall he and Fred had at market there ages ago. All the kids but Josh are intrigued or flabbergasted by the fact "Uncle Roger sold CLOTHES?"

"Yes I did! And made pretty decent coin at it, though lotta times clothes went home with me and your uncle Freddie," and he's laughing now as Brian groans.

"Tell me about it, sometimes we didn't have money for supper some night til Fred sold off a skirt or summat. You remember -"

"...When I accidentally sold his jacket and he had an absolute fit over it?" Roger's eyes go wide, his teeth flash as Brian nods rapidly.

"I thought he was fixing to murder you, Rogie."

"...Not literally," I rush to reassure the kids, as Laura's lower lip has started to tremble. "Your uncles are only joking, dearest."

"Say that all you want, Deacy, but you didn't see his face - oh." Rog responds at last to my sharp movement and rising brows, and Brian looks so desperately contrite I almost want to shake him. "It isn't the end of the world, Brian, just - you know, the kids," I say swiftly as possible as the train slows and we have to head on a roundabout, have to go on past Tottenham to get to Garden Lodge.

We arrive at our final stop eventually, Roger holding himself together as he holds Michael out in front of him and announces "Somebody needs a wee!" Whilst charging for the loo nearby. I've got to follow and check Josh, we weren't certain how his potty training would hold and thus Veronica put him in a diaper. Well done Ronnie, thinking of everything. She had put another two in my pack. Problem is I'm not the best hand on diaper-change duty, especially with worrying about the other kids around and away, but Brian says he'll watch out for them. 

Laura has to go potty too, and last I hear as I head in with Josh is the little "...Will you come with me, Uncle Brian?" Don't have a chance to explain she can't exactly expect him to do that, Bri may not be comfortable in a women's bathroom, because Josh has taken all my thoughts (along with Roger who is yelling for Michael to just take his trousers off, we'll sort the rest out - and he's holding my son in midair over the toilet)

"That's bloody disgusting, that is, I'm not letting him sit on it!" 

I peer into the stall after as Rog helps Mike over to the sink and washes them both up. "Mph, good call," I say shortly. "Think somebody might be needing a bath when we get to Freddie's, if he'll let me - oh boy oh boy, there don't cry Joshie, I know it's not fun to be wet and I'm not an expert hand at this like mummy" as I try to work out the diaper I look at Roger, who steps back with eyes widening, shaking his head.

"Can't help you mate, you're on your own."

"Brilliant," I sigh. "Hope it's alright with Laura and Brian."

Which it was, actually. Turns out Bri is a very good sport about going into ladies' rooms, and Robert was able to come into the loo with us and help me work out Josh at the end, though poor wee boy is still crying a little. "Come on then, we're going on a little walk, to see your uncle Freddie. You'll like that, won't you?" Josh's small cries turn into wails, and Roger puffs out his cheeks as I try to pat my son on the back and bounce him like Veronica would do. Feel so helpless that I want to start running for it, but to my surprise Brian takes charge.

"Alright," he says, scooping up the pack I had and slinging it across his shoulders as if it were his guitar. "Robert and Laura, take my hands. Your dad's got Josh, and you have Michael, right Roger?"

"Yeah," our drummer grunts and puts Mike on his shoulders. "Air out up there, mate. We're almost to Uncle Freddie's house." His high tone is so gentle as Brian begins leading the way, smiling back at me with a little nod, as if to say that he's sure things will be okay. Which is something I expected Roger to do, but never melancholy Bri. 

He's almost skipping along with Robert and Laura, pointing out landmarks in the High Street as we pass. And I get to thinking as we make it to the end of Freddie's drive, head down the cobblestone path - after Roger makes some abysmally loud sound to distract the press hounds camping out - if Brian can still surprise me, mayhap I don't know everything there is to know about my bandmates after all. Which means I dunno what Freddie will do, and that... Well it isn't a wholly comforting thing, but, well. Freddie won't want to turn his back on us and simply stick with going solo, will he? A lump comes to my throat as I think I hear footsteps soon as Roger rings the bell. Half-manage to convince myself, but.

Perish the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *John lives in Putney, southwest London. I tried to figure out how the tube system would send him up to Garden Lodge, and Kensington is a bit northeast, before Tottenham ct road, and I simply had to make a reference. Apologies for any innacuracies
> 
> *Apparently once when they had their kensington market stall, Roger accidentally sold Freddie's favourite coat, and they had to go out at night and try to get it back. Ended up having to purchase it, I think...the story never really ended in the source I found!
> 
> I do wonder if the press was watching Freddie's house then, hmm
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	14. Chapter 14

There's a sound of yowling and meowing from cats behind the door, and someone murmurs for them to "back up, lovies, I really don't think the door is for you, your salmon puree only just came and the nip isn't due for a week - oh!" The door is open then, and our Fred stands in his wonderful kimono, silky and shimmering, his hair standing up a bit and his face looking a trifle drawn, but those eyes are ever expressive, and even as they widen and he purses his lips over teeth, stache trembling, elegant hand stroking the head of a cat he has in his arms, Freddie freezes, breath heaving as he stops in place. "Darlings," he says to us, and I get a lump in my throat. "...This is a surprise."

"Fred,"

"Hi Fred."

"Hullo Freddie," we all speak practically over each other, even as the kids have gone quiet in response to us all feeling a trifle ill at ease, I think. Until Josh expels a wail, his face reddening as he's all tensed up in my arms, and I wince and try to apologise.

But Freddie's opening his arms and putting his feline down, tapping her gently with a toe to go as he beckons. "Oh come in, do. No need to stand like so many statues, you've brought the family, Deacy, hello darlings," he is beaming at my kids, sweet, dear Fred, though I do see the spark of something in his eyes; he's focusing on the kids: "It's so fantastic to see you, my, Michael how you've grown, and Laura looking so wonderfully well. Robert, you're quite a man I'd hardly recognise you. Oh don't fret, Josh dear, come right in and have some tea with your Uncle Freddie."

He calls to the kitchen then, to Phoebe and Joe, I think; or to Joe, at least, the resident chef - and Rog and Brian are looking at each other and at Fred as he asks for tea and biscuits. He flutters around the group of us as if we're guests at one of his lavish parties. All the little ones love it; Mike is off and beaming and romping round the house, and I despair of catching him, though Roger has clearly taken on the task of minding, and he's going around after Michael, though he looks back to Freddie and to us. Because this isn't Freddie, not in the way we know him. He knows he hasn't got to perform for us, not even to play host. At least... goodness, I hope he knows that. He's got to, surely.

Hasn't he? 

"... How've you been, Fred?" Asks Brian of him so gently. Always count on Bri to open up the conversation, with Freddie, at least. Asking how he's feeling. "We've heard the new album, and it's, it's good." He nods, those thick curls bobbing. "Very good." Tactfully leaving out his words...

"He thought you'd got the Philharmonic," I put in dryly, and Brian cuts his eyes at me even as we are ushered into the sitting room after Freddie, who barks out a laugh.

"You wouldn't be far off to think so, darling, but no," flicking his fingers and not looking quite at us, he turns and holds out hands to Josh in my arms, as I've shuffled up to sit if he wants me to. The cats have all clambered up or trot around, flickering tails and slight noises. Laura is enchanted by them, and even Robert strokes the backs of those who twine round his legs. 

Freddie sits so proper, prim as he offers to hold Josh on his knee, and my youngest stops crying at Freddie's trilling voice, singing something instantly, almost a part of his answer. "Is it so very much, do you think?" _Too much?_ I hear in the space after his questioning words.

He's asking of the sound, of the album, and I see and feel Brian freeze as he stops before he sits down. There's a hesitation, something uncertain. I can't believe I thought he was always so sure, when he loomed over us in studio, so loudly saying _"No, no, come on, let's do it this way! Oh, fuck slowing down!"_. But he is, here, and Freddie's holding himself careful, though at an ease with my son, who's stopped his crying and leans now on Freddie's chest, bless it. 

And Roger's swooped his way over with Michael in his arms, having roared through all the other rooms on this floor. Thank God this is Freddie, in front of whom I've never been embarrassed, or I probably would be from my middle son's shenanigans. Robert goes over to Mike and Rog, and our drummer's sparkling eyes, appearing so different from the way they'd held such dull flat fury in regards to Freddie a day ago; only a day, what can it do? He flings himself onto the couch and strokes a feline tail, cheekily tugging at it before flashing a grin as he breezes "Yeah we noticed the fucking tuba, Fred. What sort of mood were you in?" Such a sense of ease I am grateful for, because erm, well suffice to say I feel Brian walking on eggshells, a bit. Even as he's gotten the conversation started.

With a bit of his old cheek in force, a spark of naughtiness, Freddie replies smoothly: "Well it was the sort of mood wherein I had to make up for the lack of your effusive backing vocals, Roger dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels a bit short, but the boys are in the house with Freddie now, yesss!
> 
> Will they learn how it is he feels? Who knows?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	15. Chapter 15

Roger laughs, and Freddie smiles in response, his shoulders dropping as though in relief. "And did you?" Roger asks after he's through laughing, features losing mobility as he sits up and squints at Fred. "Was all that an effective replacement then?"

It sounds like a challenge, those words. Freddie's eyes widen, and Brian's leaning in with his eyes all limpid and pained. I'm almost holding my breath but do say "Roger, the kids -" quietly. They don't need to hear this, even if it needs to be said.

"Oh!" Freddie looks so apologetic, but right then Phoebe comes in with tea things, and "Phoebe, dear, could you and Joe show John's dear ones the garden and the pond out back?" 

Phoebe, who's only just nodded in a form of greeting to us all, looks to me. "John, are you all right with that?"

I hesitate, because really, erm, but Robert says "It's fine, Dad, I'll watch out along with Mister Joe and Mister Phoebe." 

And then Laura, sweet girl, says "This is a talk between brothers," so serious and wise as she gets up and goes over to Josh, who's calm again as he sits snuggled in Freddie's lap. "Come on Josh, let's go see - are there fish in the pond, Uncle Freddie?"

He blinks and smiles at her after a moment, reaching out and stroking his fingertips across her cheek. "Yes love, there are. Just be certain you don't fall in looking at them like I've done."

She giggles at that as Freddie winks at her, his eyes twinkling. Michael roars that he's going to catch a fish, and Phoebe smiles, setting down the tray for us before going back to the kitchen door and calling Joe, who appears a bit confused but waves and follows with all the children, as Josh finally goes with his sister, allowing himself to be scooped up. "Behave, please," I tell them all, and watch after as Robert nods at me. "And, erm. Be safe."

Laura promises "We will, Daddy," even as Mike slams hollering through Freddie's back door and charges for whatever is outside, leaving both Phoebe - and Joe, wearing an apron - to curse softly I'm sure and chase after.

After they go there is tea, and Freddie busies himself with pouring us all a cuppa, but Roger's question hangs in the air like heavy smoke. Reminding me of times in studio when the silence hung over us so densely because we hadn't things to say. Or perhaps we did, but we didn't or couldn't voice them.

But now, Freddie simply looks at us, teacup clacking against his saucer as he sits and sips from it after handing one to Brian, who'd looked pained as he had taken it, hands cupped round Freddie's with not a word, and to Rog who'd practically snatched his up. I still haven't drunk from mine; instead I sit, heart hammering. Wondering for the second time in as many days if we can move past all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments appreciated <3


	16. Chapter 16

Then Freddie coughs, his voice catches. "Dearest Blondie, I... I could never replace you. In any way." He reaches out to Roger, eyes enormous, and then his gaze catches both mine and Brian's. "Any of you. This was something - I felt I needed, well. Had to do, because..." His voice grows almost inaudible as he drops his head and adds "It felt as if you were all going on without me."

"Bollocks, Freddie," Roger says, almost snapping, tossing that off.

But no "Why wouldn't you be?" Freddie's head snaps back up, nostrils flaring. He's got that wounded look with which he'd flounce about a bit in studio at times, but I can tell how much he hurts. My chest aches listening to him. "You're off working with the Cross, Roger, have been a while, and Brian -" Brian is sitting with his fingers pressed together in front of his mouth, eyes and face filled with agony. "He's done work, written so many songs even before us, and any one of them could be a hit for him alone. John," he looks at me, his eyes soft and aching, and my body jerks in response with a sob as he gestures out to the children. "You've never needed anything like your family, you're married to your best friend, for heaven's sake! You've all got kids and wives, and - and I'm alone!"

His voice rises at the last, until he's nearly shouting, and I haven't anything to say but feel myself begin to cry, because okay, I have my family, and that's wonderful, but I love him too. I need him in my life just as much. 

I want to say that, but it's Brian, so intuitive I realise, it hits me full in the face as he's gotten up and come to the couch next to Fred, sitting and wrapping his long arms around Freddie in the same movement. He buries his face in Freddie's neck and says "Oh, I love you, Fred. We love you."

Roger's eyes are huge and his voice cracks as he is instantly up and lunging to Freddie's other side, wrapping both arms around him. "Oh, Christ, Fred, I didn't... Ah, fuck. I'm sorry," he says, those eyes filling so fast with tears I can't quite believe it. "I'm so fucking sorry."

I dunno what he's apologising for, as Brian strokes Freddie's hair and I sit with my heart thudding so heavy, but then the guitarist shifts his face to look at me as he says "I am so sorry too," and that - well, I break a bit, I suppose. I'm out of my seat and next to the couch on my knees with arms around Brian and Rog, face pressed into Freddie. Trying to show him, show them all, how much I love them. 

I hear the kids outside, a shout of laughter that lifts my heart, and I say the truth I've known since I realised what these three wonderful people do for me. "I love you, Freddie," I say, looking up at him with everything in my eyes. "I need you, I'll always need you." To write songs with, to listen, to love. I hear him expel a wet sound and hold on even tighter. "This - this band only works with these four people. And we're, we're a family." 

We will always be a family, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, this is the end. I hope it wasn't too abrupt, but I think at this point what Freddie needs is to feel that his three boys love him, and he doesn't know yet that Jim Hutton is going to be his somebody. 
> 
> No matter what happens though, this band is a family. 
> 
> *I learned that once in studio Freddie shouted at the others that they all had families and he was alone, which is the inspiration for his saying that here. Poor man :'(
> 
> I think it is officially a trope as of now that my fics end with a group hug, and I'm not even mad about it :P Many thanks to Queen, and to you for reading.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


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